Embrace serendipity

My Grandpa was the original 2ndhand Moon.  He collected vintage tools and farming/gardening equipment and had gorgeous old car the make and model of which currently escapes me.   His house, too was full of fascinating old treasures - everything from a victrola to an antique metal and marble ashtray/stand to a very cool collection of arrowheads.

Grandpa's cool old stuff fascinated me, as did the flea markets he freqented.  And while his were real antique and vintage treasures, I also learned from him and others in my life the value of just general thriftiness.  Of using something until it wears out, of giving new life to other people's old junk.  So when I first bought my house, I proudly furnished it with hand-me-downs from my parents, a couple of chairs from St. Vincent de Paul, and several items picked up on Big Trash Day (one of which is the wrought iron floor lamp sitting beside me right now).  

All of this to say I came by my love of old junk honestly, and really had no choice but to embrace it.  Still, it hasn't been that long that I've been reselling, and I'm not exactly raking in the dough yet.  With far more successful resellers out there, I'm not sure I'm qualified to give advice on thrifting, necessarily, but here it is anyway, totally unsolicited:

In thrifting, as in life, embrace serendipity.

My #1 most important rule of thumb in thrifting also just happens to be a major part of my philosophy in life.  If you go out with too specific expectations, you will almost always come home disappointed.  That may sound pessimistic, but in my experience, it's true of most things.  A simple example:  I recently watched the movie Cowboys and Aliens:

Honestly, it's sinful to use that fantastic name, those actors, and teasers like this and then put out a product with so little wit.  They should have saved the name for Pixar if they weren't going to have any fun with it.

Based on the frankly fabulous title and the actors involved (Indiana Jones/Han Solo!  James Freaking Bond!), I was expecting an action-packed movie with a tongue-in-cheek wit about it, and maybe a touch of kitsch.  Had I gone in without expectations, I likely would have enjoyed the film much more.  Expecting a sense of humor and a quick pace left me disappointed. 

On the other hand, my favorite type of getaway is the road trip with no destination.  I pick a road, I ease on down it, and I see what there is to see.  I have very rarely failed to have a totally satisfying adventure, from stumbling upon midwestern street festivals to exploring abandoned places: 

And so similarly, while I read frequently in thrifty blogs about having a plan of attack when you walk into a store, and a BOLO list of items to Be On the LookOut for, my strategy for thrifting is basically this:  Go to the thrift store.  Wander around.  Look at everything.  Let colors and textures and patina call to you.  And (this one I've learned with experience, the rest is gut) if you don't love it, don't buy it.  Just because something is vintage, and a good deal, and you think you maybe could sell it, doesn't mean you need to.  Conversely, if something speaks to you, and the price is right, sometimes you have to just go for it!  If you walk into a thrift store intent on finding this:

1950's unabridged Webster's Dictionary

Or that:

Cheery yellow telephone

You may well wander the aisles frustrated and go home grumpy.  Both of the items above are things I thrifted that I adore, but I wasn't looking for either one.  And had I been looking for the telephone, I might never have noticed any of this:

And who doesn't want a high-five hand, blue people and some hipster mice?

With eyes peeled for a particular item (or even a particular type of item, like little black dresses, vintage barware or high-end linens), you are less likely to find success on any given day, and more likely to miss out on the surprise treasures your eyes skimmed past in search of something specific.  So while I'm not sure it was Grandpa's way, my advice is simple: embrace serendipity and see what your Fairy Godthrifter might bring your way!

Strangely, ANOTHER mid-century(ish?) painting!

I've had a long few weeks and I haven't been posting as much as usual, but I'm excited to show you what I found tonight!
I've been cutting back on thrifting due to drowning in inventory and a bit of a thaw in sales while everybody's busy enjoying Spring weather (I hope that's what it is!), but today was the Last Wednesday of the Month, and if you're a regular, you may know this is something of a thrifting feast day here at 2ndhand Moon.  A day when I simply have no choice but to stop by Value Village, and today it's like my Fairy Godthrifter saved all the best stuff for me!  Probably most impressive is this quite impressive addition to the "art collection" (which I showed you last week):

Huge (as wide as my car's interior - I almost didn't get it home!) oil painting - an oddly people-free Venetian scene.
With the orangey-yellowy-brown sky, I kind of have to assume a post-apocalyptic intent here, don't you think?

Signed Van Gaard

A little close-up detail.

So of course I had to find out a little about my new post-apocalyptic Venetian sofa painting!  A little chat with good ol' Google taught me this:

Van Gaard is not a real person, but a name used by Vanguard Studios.  From Artillery Magazine:

"In the late 1960s, Andy Warhol had glamorous lackeys silkscreen his canvases for him and called his studio The Factory. In the art-boom '80s, Mark Kostabi set up an art sweatshop where struggling East Village painters made Kostabi-esque works under his not-so-watchful eye. But in 1965, Lee Reynolds Burr and his Vanguard Studios were there first. His original "art factory" in Beverly Hills produced more painted canvases bearing one signature than any artist in history, but none of the artworks for sale were actually painted by him."

The way Lee Burr describes it himself in a statement posted on his website (Burr is apparently still alive and painting in his mid-70s), he had about 10 "staff artists" that painted these pictures over silkscreened guides printed on the canvas, or in my case board.

Apparently there were a handful of signatures used for this artwork, including Lee Reynolds, Lee Burr, Van Gaard and Stuart, which is the first name of Burr's brother and business partner.  Further googling for images turned up lots and lots and lots of paintings with these various signatures, but (until I publish this post, anyway), none that look like this one, which makes me happy.  I have no problem with the idea that they produced these in quantity for the regular consumer (you'll know that from the rest of my collection!), but it's nice that this is not the most common one around.  I imagine the size of it would have kept it from being too mass-produced.  Not every room can handle a monstrosity of these proportions, and not every psyche could bear up under the sight of Venice glowing with green/orange radiation, but I bed those who could were some hardcore individuals, no?  Anyway, I love it, and I love how insane the (I'm guessing here) late 60s/early 70s must have been to produce such a thing.  If you feel the same way, and have a room that can handle it, let me know if you're interested!  If not, it will no doubt eventually find it's way to Kenrick Antique Mall, booth 78 (once I'm done admiring it myself).

More of the Last Wednesday treasures, coming soon!